by Aileen Adams
Colin had been a soldier once, attaching himself to one of the Highland clans, but was ever the outsider. He could fight for them and bleed for them, but he would never belong with or to them. Members of his traditional clan were far and few between. He had no clan to call his own, and so eventually, he had come here. Because of his background and his ability to act much like a go-between when arguments broke out, and his ability to see both sides, he had eventually been chosen as the sheriff of the county and the surrounding region. It had been that way for a few years before it became official, which he didn’t particularly care for because he’d had to swear fealty to English laws and make sure that they were followed. Which often put him in an untenable situation. Especially since—
He abruptly pulled the horse and wagon to a stop as a rider emerged from the trees a short distance ahead. The village was just on the other side of the small hillock beyond. He swore under his breath when he saw the rider wearing a tartan plaid. Flaunting it.
“Dougal Craig,” he muttered, waiting for him to approach.
Dougal flaunted his tartan attire, despite the sheriff’s numerous warnings that doing so would cause problems for not only Dougal, but also himself, as well as keeping the discontent and animosity against the Lowlanders and the English alive. Dougal didn’t seem to care. He and Colin had butted heads on several previous occasions, leaving Colin feeling as if he were caught in the middle of the talk of yet another uprising, another war. He didn’t like most of the English laws passed to Scotland from the crown, but he was duty bound to uphold them.
Dougal stopped his horse near the wagon. “Well, if it isn’t the good sheriff. Who was that lass I saw ye with a while ago?”
Colin frowned. “Why are ye lurking about here, Dougal? Don’t ye have anything better to do?”
Colin had nothing against Dougal personally, other than his penchant for stirring the pot, which he did mostly for his own amusement. Dougal had inherited property not far from Iona’s, but he was rarely there, preferring to roam the forests, glens, and moors in either direction, often sleeping under the stars, remaining in the mountains for weeks at a time. He looked half wild, but Colin didn’t let his appearance deceive him. The man was smart. Often too smart for his own good. Dougal’s long black hair fell past his shoulders, his bangs cut short, his muscular torso often half-naked, his tartan wrapped around his waist, leather sandals or boots covering his feet and calves. In the wintertime, Colin didn’t see much of Dougal and had no idea where he stayed if he wasn’t on his property.
“The lass?” Dougal lifted an amused eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I have a new neighbor?”
“As a matter of fact, ye do, Dougal, and I’m warning ye to leave her alone.”
The amusements left Dougal’s features. “Do tell? And what makes ye think I would be interested in the lass? By the way, who is she and where did she come from?”
Colin knew that word traveled fast around the village and its environs. Soon enough, Dougal would learn the truth. Better it come from him and not the gossip mongers. “She inherited the property from some distant relatives. I’m warning you, Dougal, ye leave her alone.”
“And why would I bother the lass?” he asked, frowning, though the quirk of his lips eliminated his feigned dismay.
Colin sighed. Better just get it over with. “She’s an Englishwoman from the Isle of Skye—”
“A bloody Englishwoman?” Dougal erupted, serious now, face flushing with color. “And what is she doing here?”
“I told you, Dougal, she inherited property. Now ye leave her alone, do ye hear me? She wants no trouble from anyone.”
Dougal barked a harsh chortle of laughter. “Then she picked the wrong place to land, didn’t she?” He shook his head in disgust. “An Englishwoman, living next to my property.”
Colin watched Dougal’s face grow darker, anger flashing in his eyes as he turned to glare in the direction of Iona Douglas’s property.
“Unheard of! Unacceptable!” Dougal exclaimed, glaring at Colin. “And who’s her husband? Do I know him? Don’t tell me she’s married to a Scot?”
“She’s not married at all,” Colin said, then realized he might be saying too much of the private business she’d mentioned. “Her companion will arrive shortly. I’m warning you, Dougal, leave her be. She has nowhere else to go—”
He snorted. “So, her own don’t want her, is that it?”
“It doesn’t appear so,” Colin said softly. “And we’re no stranger to being black sheep, are we?”
Dougal quieted, though his face remained red and his scowl fierce. Dougal Craig had no family to speak of, and like Colin, had come from the Highlands long ago. No one was quite sure about his history as he didn’t venture into the village frequently, and he rarely spoke of himself. There were rumors bandied about that Dougal sometimes indulged in more wild activities and adventures, and some even believed he was a highwayman, or that he would often hire himself out as a problem solver of sorts to whoever would pay him. Colin had never caught him robbing anyone, beating anyone, or otherwise breaking the law, but that didn’t mean he didn’t.
Colin stared at Dougal, noted the stiffness in his jaw, the tight grasp he had on the reins of his horse, and shook his head in disbelief. “Dougal?”
The man reluctantly turned his gaze from the direction of Iona’s property and glared at Colin.
“Ye will stay off the woman’s property.”
“Aye, I’ve never laid a hand on a woman, not even an English one, and I’m not about to start now, but…” Once more he glared toward Iona’s property. “But maybe she can be convinced to leave, go where she belongs, which isn’t here.”
“Dougal—”
“Maybe her house will burn down, be struck by lightning, or—”
Colin didn’t miss the threat in Dougal’s comment. “Don’t make trouble. Ye stay away from her and her property, ye understand? We have enough trouble as it is.” His own scowl darkened. “And ye know what’s going to happen as soon as that new law is in place. Do ye know what they’re threatening to do to people who get caught wearing a plaid after the law takes effect?”
Dougal straightened in the saddle, his chin lifted, his expression stoic. “And ye would arrest me?” he asked softly.
“I’m the sheriff,” Colin said, striving for patience. “I am duty bound to uphold the law of the crown whether I agree with it or not.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dougal said, then abruptly wheeled his horse and rode back into the forest.
Colin stared after him for several moments, shaking his head, knowing that there was going to be trouble. It was just a matter from which direction it came. Trouble would come from the villagers, once they found out about Iona’s history and heritage, or from Dougal, her querulous neighbor.
It didn’t take long for news of Iona’s presence to make its way to the village. In fact, by the time he had unhitched the wagon at the livery, put his horse in the small stable behind the sheriff’s office, and moved around the structure to walk inside, several villagers had already gathered, waiting for him out front. None of them looked happy.
“Is it true, Sheriff? She’s an Englishwoman?”
He sighed and nodded. “Aye, ’tis true.”
“And you’re letting her stay? At the McGinty place?” another asked.
Colin grew impatient. “She has every right to be here as ye do. She’s inherited the property. She’s going to mind her own business, and I suggest ye do the same—”
“You’re taking her side?” yet another voice challenged.
Colin turned toward Bruce O’Bannon, his irritation near its limit. As if he didn’t have enough troubles to deal with, and now he was caught in the middle of this. “It’s not a matter of taking sides, Bruce. She inherited the place—”
“And why can’t she go somewhere else? This is no place for an Englishwoman, and certainly not one living by herself! It’s shameful! She doesn’t—”
“O’Bannon,
you’re listening to too much gossip. Her companion will be here soon, and that’s none of your business either. She’s not going to bother you, and I suggest ye don’t bother her. We have enough troubles around here what with—”
“Troubles caused by the English, and now you’re letting one move into our midst!”
Colin strove to retain hold of his patience. He gazed at Michael Shaughnessy with a lifted eyebrow. “And you’re going to let one lone Englishwoman bother you? What are ye so afraid of? What do ye think one lone Englishwoman is going to do to you, Shaughnessy?”
“Och, I’m not afraid of no woman,” Shaughnessy muttered. “It’s just that she doesn’t belong here.”
Colin lifted an eyebrow, staring at the small gathering of men hovering near his doorway. “It wasn’t that long ago that none of us belonged here, Shaughnessy. I wasn’t born here, and neither were you.” Very few men of his age or older had been born here. He shook his head, waving his hands to disperse them. “Go home to your families. We have enough troubles without borrowing more. Leave her be.”
Grumbling, the small group of men moved off, talking amongst themselves. While Colin could understand their annoyance, mainly caused by the current troubles with the English following the aftermath of the rebellion, they were all going to have to learn, sooner or later, that times were changing. Colin didn’t like it any more than they did, but he knew, for the sake of their own survival, they had to find a middle ground.
He stopped short when he entered his office and found Alasdair waiting inside. He barely restrained a groan. “Now what?” he asked, taking a seat behind his small desk, trying not to glare at Alasdair sitting in the other chair. “It’s been a day, Alasdair. If you’ve got any complaints about our new neighbor, can ye save them until tomorrow?”
“Long day, Colin?” Alasdair grinned.
The grin on Alasdair’s face pulled at the scar, again making the grin appear more like a hellish grimace than a quirk of amusement. People in the village were still getting used to Alasdair’s horribly scarred face, and although the initial shock had worn off, there were still times, like now, when certain facial expressions prompted uncomfortable surprise.
“How does the McGinty place look? I haven’t been down that way in a while.”
“It needs a lot of work.” Colin shrugged. “Part of the roof needs rethatching, the stones need chinking, and there’s no furniture to speak of.” The place had been abandoned long enough that it seemed some had helped themselves to it.
“She’s going to hire people around here to help?” Alasdair asked, eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“She said she could take care of herself.”
“That’s what I thought,” Alasdair said. “At least that’s what Elspeth told me. From what little she knows of Iona Douglas, she’s quite independent, sometimes acts more like a lad than a lass, or at least that’s what she heard growing up.”
Colin sighed, not really wanting to talk about Iona anymore. “What brings ye here, Alasdair? Shouldn’t ye be home with your wife, eating a nice hot supper, sitting by the fire, rocking your old bones?”
Again, a flash of amusement from Alasdair, but then he grew serious. “Beitris and Elspeth asked about the house. They assumed that there was very little furniture in the place, and that due to current tensions, that it might be difficult for Iona to furnish her new home.”
“And?”
“There is still more furniture that we’re not using at my father’s property, and there’s some still left over from Beitris’s father’s house. And Elspeth’s.”
Colin refrained from voicing an opinion. “I see.”
“Elspeth also has some belongings in her cottage. She’s selling the cottage to the apothecary’s brother.”
Colin had an idea where this was going and waited Alasdair out.
“They’d like to donate the furniture to Iona. What do ye have to say about that?”
“What do ye mean, what do I say?” Colin said. “I don’t care. If they want to give leftover furniture to Iona, they’re certainly welcome to do so.”
Alasdair frowned. “That’s just the thing. I’m still on tenuous ground here, Colin, and I was thinking it would look better, or at least less… treasonous, ye might say, if ye took the furniture over to her house in your wagon, instead of me.”
Colin wasn’t particularly surprised, but he wasn’t happy either. Not long ago, Alasdair had been a hunted man. While he had been on Alasdair’s side, he’d even come up with a plan to convince the English and the bounty hunters in the area that Alasdair was dead, he didn’t need more trouble than he already had. It was nice of Beitris and Elspeth to want to help Iona, but he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for him to take it over either.
“Beitris and Elspeth are good, kind folk,” he said, shaking his head. “But doing this, it might cause problems for them.”
“Everyone in the village loves Beitris and Elspeth.” Alasdair shrugged. “Some of them still feel sorry for Beitris because she’s blind and was forced to marry a reprobate like me. As for Elspeth, they respect her loyalty and the fact that she risked her life to protect Beitris.”
Colin would never forget the brutal beating Elspeth had taken from bounty hunters that accosted the two women while looking for Alasdair. They had kidnapped Beitris and severely injured Elspeth, leaving her for dead. She was still recovering from that abuse.
Alasdair continued. “If the villagers know that the furniture is coming from Elspeth and Beitris, maybe it won’t cause any discord.” He moved to stand. “Personally, I’d like to stay out of it, at least for now.”
“And ye want me to get in the middle of it?” Colin asked, eyebrows raised. “Why not just load up your wagon and have Beitris and Elspeth take the furniture over there?” Before Alasdair could make an argument, he raised a hand. “I can ride along, but to be honest, Alasdair, she’s quite a stubborn and independent woman. She sees me coming with a wagonload of furniture, she might just demand they turn around and take it right back where they got it. Still, coming from the women, maybe she’ll accept it.”
Alasdair grumbled for a moment. The two exchanged a look and then Alasdair finally nodded. “Come on out to the house later tomorrow, and we’ll have everything loaded up. Then ye can escort them to the woman’s house. What’s her surname again?”
“Iona Douglas. How did Elspeth come to know her?”
Alasdair offered a shrug. “Something about family members knowing them from long ago. I don’t know and to be honest, I don’t much care, ye ken? As far as I’m concerned, having an Englishwoman living in the midst of us during these times is likely to cause trouble. We both know that.”
“It already has,” Colin agreed. Alasdair lifted his scarred eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
That explanation required only two words.
“Dougal Craig.”
6
The house, if not ideal structure-wise, was beginning to look more like home since the day prior, thanks to Elspeth and Beitris, who had brought her a wagonload of unused furniture, with Sheriff Ramsey riding along for… Iona wasn’t sure.
Under normal circumstances, she would have refused the handout because she was not one to accept charity gladly. However, after the two women explained why they had extra furniture, she was willing to accept.
Yesterday morning, she had stepped outside to find a wagon in the distance bouncing toward her, along with a rider on horseback. She had been alarmed, thinking perhaps some of the villagers had come to tell her that she wasn’t welcome here and to go away.
However, as they came closer, she realized that two women sat in the wagon, while Sheriff Ramsey rode his horse nearby. Her heart offered a traitorous leap of excitement when she spied his handsome features, which of course she immediately followed with a scowl.
She didn’t want to find the sheriff attractive, didn’t want to find him unusually compelling. What was it about him that drew her to want to know more about him? As th
ey approached, she took a closer look at the two women in the wagon. She didn’t recognize either one of them, but the woman holding the reins pulled the horses to a halt in the yard, raised a hand with a smile, and offered a friendly greeting.
“Iona! It’s me, Elspeth!”
Iona watched the woman who gingerly climbed down from the wagon, holding her left arm in a strange position, her gait looking a bit off-balance as she approached. Her left hand curled inward. From behind her, Iona watched as the sheriff helped the other woman down while Elspeth came near.
“Iona? My, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
The last she recalled seeing Elspeth was when she was perhaps six or seven years old. They were very distant cousins, and she couldn’t even remember from which family line she descended. She did remember that she had always liked Elspeth, and fondly remembered the hours that they had played together in the fields beyond the manor house before everything became different…
“Och, the time passes,” Elspeth said, smiling at her. “It’s been what, almost fifteen years?” She stepped closer and wrapped Iona in a gentle hug. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Iona. And I can’t tell ye how pleased I was to receive your message.” She paused, beaming. “Of course, it took the long way around by way of Edinburgh.”
“I’m sorry to hear,” Iona said politely, feeling a bit self-conscious, especially with the sheriff staring at her the way he was.
“Iona, this is Beitris Macintyre, wife of Alasdair Macintyre.” She turned to her companion and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Beitris, I’d like to introduce ye to Iona Douglas, my fifth cousin on my mother’s side. We haven’t seen each other since we were small children. Remember that time I was away from the village for a summer?”